


the 'hugo'

by poisonrationalitie



Series: Harry Potter Expanded Universe [37]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour, Gen, Ice Cream, Ice Cream Parlors, summer job, this is just really light and short and nice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-09
Updated: 2019-09-09
Packaged: 2020-10-13 00:41:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20573612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poisonrationalitie/pseuds/poisonrationalitie
Summary: Hugo finds a new passion by way of a summer job. Written for the Hangman Game, Puzzle 1, Letter I.  X-posted from fanfiction.net.





	the 'hugo'

The Weasley clan is an accepting bunch. Louis has had plenty of boyfriends, and nobody’s ever batted an eye. Uncle Bill has had long hair and earrings since school, plenty of them have tattoos, and Molly and Lucy were both born outside of the confines of marriage. Even the Lily incident, as shocking as it had been initially, was settled now. But it’s Hugo’s summer request that causes a ripple through the family. 

His mother takes him aside. “Hugo, you know I always support you. I’m just - worried. N.E.W.T years are important, and it won’t do to underestimate the study needed to succeed in sixth year.” It’s only for the summer, he assures her. A summer job. He’ll hardly be doing the sort of weeks she does as Minister for Magic. Maybe it’s the memory of what happened to Lily when she was given as many idle summers as she pleased, maybe it’s an article she reads, Hugo isn’t sure, but three days later, she gives him her permission. 

Then comes his dad. It isn’t so much an interrogation as the sort of gentle reassurance that one always gets from him. He and Hugo are de-gnoming the garden when it comes up. “I just - Hugo. If it’s about money, we’re okay. We’re great. You don’t need to worry about that, okay? If you want something - books or anything - we’ll get it for you.”

“I know, Dad,” says Hugo. “Thank you. It’s not that. I just think I could learn something, maybe. It’ll give me something to do.”

“De-gnoming the garden not enough?” His dad jokes, throwing a gnome over the fence. Hugo watches as the little creature soars.

“Go Dad!” he cheers, and the pair high-five. “I think I’ll pass on becoming a professional de-gnomer.”

“My hopes for you are ruined,” his dad sighs sarcastically, shaking his head. “My son, not a de-gnomer. Where did I go wrong?” And with that, both his parents are on board.

Uncle George, of course, makes an offer. For every teen from their clan wanting to make extra pocket money, there has always been a job at Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes. All his life, Hugo has been given things on merit of his relations. He is grateful, always, for the gifts from the shop, for first-hand accounts of dragons and Egyptian souvenirs, for signed Quidditch posters and the inside on the Ministry gossip. But this is Hugo’s first foray into independence, and he is determined to get this on his own. It isn’t as though he’s a dropkick - five ‘O’s and no other grade below an ‘EE’ in his O.W.Ls is impressive enough, despite his sister’s achievements.

He applies to several stores advertising for juniors and is accepted within two days to work at Florean Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlour. When Rose hears, she laughs. “You’ll get bored. It’s just shovelling ice cream!” Hugo’s palms sweat on his first day of training, but Francis Fortescue is kind and reminds him of his grandfather. He teaches Hugo how to use the scoops and how to blend the milkshakes. 

“But the ice cream is, of course, the main attraction,” Francis says, stirring. “Some people will come in with grand ideas of what they want, but we have more flavours and more cones than anywhere else in the British Isles. It can get overwhelming.” And Hugo stands behind the counter, smiling at everyone who comes in, from little kids to old men, and harassed-looking office workers. Some do know what they want, pointing confidently at the cones or reciting an order without looking up from their notepad, but Francis smiles and thanks them no matter how rude they are. 

He learns that the parents are thankful if you give the little ones their ice cream in a plain wafer cone with a serviette, and that the rainbow sprinkle cones can make a birthday girl light up for an extra knut when her parents fret over the cost of two scoops. Chocolate cones look best with blue ice-creams and that is always mentioned to those with cameras around their necks. Waffle cones are the favourites of old ladies. Surprise cones are best with teenagers. And many times he watches one take the first bite into their cone to be shocked as their mouth is filled with popping candy. 

Francis makes the ice cream, and Hugo makes the cones. The patterns entrance him. In a twist, he finds himself developing opinions on the best types of cones, and when he raises the topic over dinner, he can see his family trying very hard not to look bewildered. The ice cream is the main attraction, but he decides that the importance of the cone is underestimated.

He studies for school when he’s at home, determined to get good grades, but when his nose isn’t in a book, he is designing. He goes into work with ideas for new cones, and Francis nods, seeming excited. “Go on, then,” says Francis, and Hugo coats the inside of the cones in butterbeer. He enlists Victoire and her older children to taste-test for him. Over the course of the week they discover the best cone-ice cream combinations, and the kids are quite sick of him and have sworn off ice cream for life (or so they tell him). 

And soon enough, Hugo’s butterbeer cones join the waffle cones and the sugar cones and the surprise cones and he learns that they go down best with the adults with bags beneath their eyes, and they ask him if he still studies at Hogwarts, and if he goes to Hogsmeade, and how they remember the copious amounts of butterbeer they drank on chilly afternoons in the Three Broomsticks. 

By the end of the month, he has designed another cone that he calls ‘Rosie Posie’, much to his sister’s annoyance. He warns those who choose it not to bite the cone, and to their delight, it transfigures into a bouquet of roses after one finishes the ice cream. He recommends it to those who come in with their partners and can’t help but grin when he sees their reactions.

And all of it comes from  _ him.  _ Not his name or his family, but his talent. He creates and he crafts and he is saddened by the days passing so quickly. On his birthday, he comes to work in the morning in spite of Francis giving him the day off. The old man turns red and hugs him tightly, and Hugo reciprocates. He doesn’t so much do work as sit around the parlour, chatting and taking notes. People can be rather like ice creams, or cones, he thinks. Similar in their structure but different in their flavour. 

And at the end of the summer, he has a sag in his shoulders and a tremble in his lips when he takes off his apron for the last time. Francis thanks him, and tells him to wait for a moment. Rays of late-afternoon sunshine pour through the small, curved windows of the parlour, and Hugo stands in the orange pools, soaking up the light. Francis returns with a cone in his hand, bright orange and spotted.

“Hugo,” he says. Hugo takes the cone and inhales the scent of orange and grass fields like the ones by his house. “It’ll be a spring and summer special, I think.”

And maybe it isn’t usual. But when he returns to Hogwarts, there’s talk of summer romances and fights and beach holidays, and he finds himself thinking of the ice cream cones and the smiles and the new special, and it warms him to his bones. 


End file.
